


have you no idea that you're in deep?

by senseof_Hygge



Series: sex don't sleep when the lights are off [2]
Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Allusions to Murder, Anal Sex, Cock Warming, Cock Worship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, NOT FROM A MAIN CHARACTER, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Beta Read, sort of subspace?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senseof_Hygge/pseuds/senseof_Hygge
Summary: Guilt and shame are not the same but the feelings are not so different when Youngjo is on his knees and taking cock the way he'd been taught to.
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Lee Seoho
Series: sex don't sleep when the lights are off [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985176
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	have you no idea that you're in deep?

**Author's Note:**

> sequel to [i know that you got daddy issues](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820001), reading that isn't necessary i guess, since this is all just an excuse for me to write smut. if you don't read the first part, all you need to know is that seoho is a demon preying on youngjo who is a priest

Youngjo has seen the Ghent altarpiece exactly once in his life. It stood towering over him immutably, shockingly dull in colour when he stared upon its back panels, closed as it were, as the man standing before them explained the detailing in the painting. The figures were imposing in size and sturdy, each one framed in its own square and filling the space, pressing too close to the edges like any moment they would break from the triptych. 

Mary looks serene, dove flying above her in a halo of light, as she accepts her prophecy and place in the world. Eyes turned heavenward, hands crossed in front of her, her drapery demure and simple, listening to the words of Gabriel but speaking directly to the will of God.

The piece is domineering size, it takes up the room and commands attention from every pitiful soul that stalks into the room it sits in. The feeling of being around it is suffocating, even before Youngjo had drowned in pleasures of the flesh, he’d been taken with the triptych in a fashion that terrified him in hindsight. It felt like the precipice of an obsession was forming, the longer he stared, the more compelling it seemed. Not that its obvious allusion to religious symbology was what enraptured him.

It felt like he was more compelled to what the meaning warned him against. Hung between the words of  _ stay pure, stay devoted, stay amicable _ , Youngjo had heard the hiss of pleasure, had his interest piqued in a way he sure wasn’t intended by the imagery.

The angel Gabriel beckons her with one slender finger, a stalk of white lilies pressed to his bosom in gift, face illuminated, fig coloured wings aflutter in the cramped space as he speaks to her, words gilded in gold. His robes are lined with gold too, pinned closed by a pearl class, crown bearing the same jewels, lips plumped with serenity, he brings only good news. Every stroke of the artist’s brush hinted at opulence, worship, piety.

The lilies allude to her purity, as any devout worshipper should be, crystalline in their structure and shiny, though something false about them parlayed their secrets the longer Yougjo kept his eyes on the cracked paint. The man had delved into the story of this piece, hands turned heavenward as he spoke, cold eyes cast over the crowd as if he knew of their sins and guilt. 

The throng of people had listened with rapt attention but squirmed under his heavy gaze, all carrying the feeling of guilt close to them. Youngjo had done the same, face flaming as he was forced to turn inward with his thoughts, wondering which one in particular he was meant to feel bad about.

He no longer feels guilt, that feeling had long since been rid of when Seoho had flit into his life and tore down the modest life he’d made for himself. The first time they’d done it, Youngjo had been taken from behind like a dame, body bare save for the cross he donned around his neck, the silver cold and biting against the heat of skin. Seoho had not shed a single piece of clothing. 

His shivers travel impetuously down his spine like a trickle of water, thinking back to their first few times they’d been tangled together, earning himself a hand in his hair now, Seoho’s fingers rubbing at his temple as he cooed softly. Youngjo can’t make out the words unattached to the world as he were, focusing only on the taste on his tongue, salivating at the familiar scent of Seoho.

There was once a Father who lived here too. He had hair the colour of smoke trees in the fall, lips like a begonia, soft and pink, and eyes crystalline like moonstones. He was endlessly kind, spoke in gentle tones and hushed breaths, had been the one to tell Youngjo about the Ghent altarpiece to begin with. His name was Gabriel, no doubt named after the archangel, and he was every bit the image of perfection.

Youngjo sighs deep and low around the limp cock in his mouth, had been suckling on it for so long he’d lost himself. Seoho tastes sweet and clean, he can’t help the way he drools around it now, tongue lapping delicately at the head, just like he’d been shown how to do.

Seoho is soft from lack of stimulation but that does nothing to stop his sinful mouth from letting fall a litany of praise that has him feeling less than human. He feels floaty, kept grounded only by the contact between him and Seoho, scent heady and dangerously surrounding him.

“Oh, little dove, the things you do to me.” Seoho pants, graceful even with his pants undone and hair a mess. 

He’d taken to calling Youngjo recently, had laughed wickedly when he’d slid down his aching cock and ridden him to kingdom come, watched him fall apart at just how much he liked the pet name. At some point Youngjo had forgotten all but that term of endearment slipping between those full lips, tongue peeking out as if tasting it again and again and again.

On his knees as he so often finds himself these days, thoughts which before were in prayer now come together in pleasure, and he’d settled into it far easier than he would want to admit, eyes fluttering when Seoho tugs on his hair for sucking too hard, feeling his cock fattening in his mouth. He’s only meant to keep him warm, pillowing his head against Seoho’s thigh for a semblance of comfort as he relaxes his jaw and swallows softly, thoughts straying to Father Gabriel. He was a pious man too, Youngjo thinks with solemnity, the only thing that comes to him in a scarce moment of clarity, who knows why he’d committed such sins.

“Maybe I’ll let you suck me ‘till I’m actually hard hm? Would you like that?” Seoho nudges him none too gently off his soft cock, wet and shiny. 

Youngjo thinks about the people who died for committing the heinous sin of simply catching Seoho’s eyes, for resembling him at scant angles, in soft laughter and delicate fingertips, thinks of the way they pitifully fell by this man’s hands. He had been the reason for their deaths. He had been the reason they’d been sought out to begin with.

“Yes,” he swallows thickly, mouth used and empty all at once, missing the taste of Seoho already, “please.”

“Good boy.” Seoho giggles, eyes curved beautifully as he smiles, bloodthirsty and sharp, and Youngjo can almost see blood seeping between his gums.

Gabriel had fixated on the lilies held dutifully in the painting, had been inexplicably fascinated by them when Youngjo had come back from the trip and finally been able to talk to someone about it. His eyes glazed over with a furor, tone beguile as he spoke in reverence of it.  _ We are all guilty _ , Gabriel had whispered, voice raspy and slow as if the words weren’t his to begin with,  _ but Mary was not _ . In his hands, the rosary twirled endlessly.

By the time Seoho has slipped a third finger into him, Yongjo’s cock is hard and drooling pitifully, head pinking impossibly deeper when pleasure curls through him like a flame. The first time he’d been taken this way, he had clasped his hands together in prayer between bitten off cries and wet pleads sticking together. Seoho had quickly fucked that habit out of him too, left him boneless and aching, panting after his release and hole stretched obscenely after taking his first cock, scared at how easily he lost himself in it.

Something dark had taken with Gabriel, the rest of the church had told him, when they’d found his body smattered in blood, pulse long gone from him. On the back of his hand a single lily had been carved, petals curling out and viciously deep. His eyes were closed like all those times he had been in devout prayer, though the smile on his face is cracked, unseemly, prurient. Even in his last moments, life fleeing from him in the dimming of day and darkness of the room, Father Gabriel had undoubtedly found himself in something licentious.

He begs for more, has learned to ask for something when he wants it, how to ask  _ nicely _ when he wanted something faster. The tip of Seoho’s cock breaches his rim with little issue, so used to being stretched out now, his hole takes to it too well. 

Youngjo shifts his weight onto his front more, on his knees and chest now, biting into the meat of his arm as he tries to muffle the sound of his moans. Some days are better than others. Some days he takes to pleasure so well it washes over him like a pocket of sunlight in the break of day, blanketed by Seoho’s toned body, warm and safe and his head empties beautifully.

Seoho smiles something devilish, every image the predator he’d grown into, teeth even and sharp, seemingly relishing in the way Youngjo squirms under his hands but offering no relief.

“Can you take it, little dove?” he coos mockingly, biting his way up Youngjo’s spine. He can only take in deep, shuddering breaths in response, trying to ignore the saccharine giggle he elicits in return. 

Other days he whines and cries about how he’d fallen so far, clutched tight in the hands of a man who taught him such carnal pleasures, and not entirely man to begin with. He’d been burned and cast from the will of Heaven surely but that does not mean he doesn’t feel the guilt of it.

No. Not guilt.

Because of course that had been stolen from him too, at the hands, the mouth, the words of this salacious demon. He’d not felt the pains of guilt for a while now. The feeling that licks into the deepest parts of his mind in the quiet of night cannot be remedied, the  _ shame  _ eats at the pads of his feet when he’s left alone to himself, away from Seoho, away from the rest of the world. There is no escape from shame.

His chest aches with want, eyes fluttering shut as Seoho’s cock burrows inside him again, desperately canting his hips back and chasing the pleasure blooming in his gut, pursuit of equanimity long abandoned. Seoho presses against his pebbling nipple, rubbing meanly at his sensitive parts, laughing boldly when he tears a keening moan from his parted lips. That had once known every sentence of the Lord’s work, his lips now fall open with his name in vain.

"You're nothing like Gabriel," Seoho whispers against his ear, breath tickling the shell and sending pleasure racing through his nerves. His blood ices in his veins at the words, "I might keep you for an eternity yet, little dove."

**Author's Note:**

> [ here ](http://www.thehistoryblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/closed-altarpiece.jpg) is the closed/back panels of the Ghent altarpiece if you wanted :)  
> find me on twt [@mechanicharin](https://twitter.com/mechanicharin)  
> 


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